Pierre

The sun is on its way toward the riverbed. The current rushes forward, small waves slapping against the
round pebbles that litter its banks. Although one would expect the land to be erupting in greenery, there is
a sad grey barrenness hanging over it. Perhaps something happened. A fire. Destruction.
A boy kneels in the wet clay at the edge of the river. He is talking to someone.
Do you know, he says softly, eyes closing, I saw a strange thing today. Ask me what it was.
His listener appears to comply, for he then continues. It was further upstream, in the morning, while I was
fishing for the days food. You know the dock, the abandoned one all overgrown by parthenium? I saw a
boat tied up there. A row-boat. There was half an oar in it.
He pauses to give the other time to assimilate the information.
It would take me, he says, the beginnings of a smile creeping over his lips, away. Downriver to a place
Ive never seen or heard of. It would take you too. We could sail the world together.
The reply he gets seems to jolt him.
Yes, his voice falls a fraction of a decibel. I know you like it here. Im sorry. I shouldnt have asked in the
first place.
And he goes on talking into the twilight, of the things he dreams he will find downriver, how he wishes his
companion would not forsake him on his grand voyage, how much they will miss each other and whether
he will ever find anyone so caring, so willing to talk things out with him. He wonders aloud if he should
simply put the whole idea out of his mind, for without a friend to share his life with, what existence has
he? What does anything that he says or does mean, if he says and does it alone? He knows he will soon
forget, he can feel it being eroded from his memory. He does not believe in the past, nor in the present,
nor the future.
At length his words cease to flow, and he gets up. In his hand there is a smooth white stone, which he
flings into the dark void. He has lost count of how many he has thus cast away. It hurts a little, because
this one is different. It has blue veins running through it. It is almost alive.
Goodbye, he calls after it, as its trajectory carries it beyond his sight.